An English lad, who, reading in a book, <br />A ponderous, leathern thing set on his knee, <br />Saw the broad violet of the Egean Sea <br />Lap at his feet as it were village brook. <br />Wide was the east; the gusts of morning shook; <br />Immortal laughter beat along that shore; <br />Pan, crouching in the reeds, piped as of yore; <br />The gods came down and thundered from that book. <br />He lifted his sad eyes; his London street <br />Swarmed in the sun, and strove to make him heed; <br />Boys spun their tops, shouting and fair of cheek: <br />But, still, that violet lapping at his feet,— <br />An English lad had he sat down to read; <br />But he rose up and knew himself a Greek.<br /><br />Lizette Woodworth Reese<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/keats-5/
